


Twenty Years of Ys

by ficontessa



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Actors, Conventions, M/M, McShep - Freeform, Mutual Pining, Past Drug Addiction, rodney is better in bed than he is at socializing, wormhole extreme
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-07
Updated: 2020-08-07
Packaged: 2021-03-06 02:54:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,615
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25756204
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ficontessa/pseuds/ficontessa
Summary: John and Rodney were both actors on the beloved Wormhole Extreme spinoff, Lost City of Ys. Now they're meeting again at a convention, twenty years later. John's on the cusp of an RDJ-style superhero career renaissance; Rodney's been a convention regular for years. Maybe now they can finally get it right.
Relationships: Rodney McKay/John Sheppard
Comments: 29
Kudos: 98





	Twenty Years of Ys

**Author's Note:**

> Please note that this work contains reference to addiction and recovery!

"In addition to your appearances to promote Tungsten Man, the con has reached out to ask if you'd be willing to appear on a panel in the main hall celebrating the 20th anniversary of Wormhole Extreme: Lost City of Ys, sir. They wouldn't ask you to participate in the signing session unless you want to, since you're technically already going to be signing for the studio session on Saturday."

John Sheppard squinted at his assistant. "Twenty years? Really? And people are still talking about it?" It had been his first role, and he'd barely lasted past the first season before his own issues had taken over. He hadn't realized the old sci-fi show was still on anyone's mind, let alone enough to feature as a celebratory panel at a convention as big as Comic-Con.

"It's a classic, sir," Evan Lorne said primly. "People have loved it forever."

"Including you?" His assistant flushed slightly, and John grinned. "Gotcha, didn't I? Are you a secret Wormholer, Evan?"

"I believe they prefer to be called Wormies, sir."

"Yeah, but are you one of them?"

"What shall I tell the convention, Mr. Sheppard?" Evan held up his tablet in an obvious defensive position, and John chuckled.

"Who else is going to be there?"

A few taps on the screen, and Evan squinted. "Uh, it looks like they have confirmations from Teyla Emmagen, Stephen Caldwell, Peter Grodin, and Rodney McKay."

John felt his eyebrows rising. "Ol' Oscar-or-bust McKay is going to be there?"

"He's a regular, sir. It's actually more surprising that they scored Teyla."

"Wait, Rodney McKay is a convention regular? The man has an Oscar AND a Tony."

"He's there pretty much every year, sir. I think he only missed one when he was filming 'The Pianist.'"

"Well, it did get him the Oscar."

"Two, actually, sir, for acting and best song."

"You ARE a Wormie, aren't you?" Evan waved his tablet at him, and John relented. "Fine, put me down. Another stop on the John-Sheppard-Is-Fully-Rehabilitated Tour won't kill me, and I'll already be there anyway."

John had spent most of the weekend being shuttled from press room to press room for his upcoming movie, attending a trailer premiere and an exclusive screening where he'd watched himself on the screen for the first time in years, tucked into a chair with his hand over his face and Evan doing his best to block him from curious stares as he peeked through his fingers and winced at the camera angles and superhero posing. The movie was honestly pretty good, he thought. He just wasn't sure everyone else would think so, and those were _his_ artificially-sculpted metal abs up there in high-def being whispered about. He exited the last press interview with a sigh of relief.

"That went well, right?" he asked Evan, who was trotting alongside him with his nose in his tablet. 

"Yes, it did," his assistant said absently.

"I didn't yell at anybody, I didn't get overly twitchy, I said what the studio wanted me to say?"

"You were the very model of a modern movie star," Evan said dryly.

"Bite your tongue. Not a star."

"Not yet," the younger man said. "If this movie goes well-"

"Then I'll get to keep paying you, yes, we're all very pleased at the situation."

Evan rolled his eyes at his employer. They'd worked together for several months now - since John had wrapped filming Tungsten Man and the studio had made it clear that his own organizational skills were not up to the task of the upcoming press tour, and his longtime agent, bless her extremely patient heart, had snarkily added that he could barely manage his own life, let alone press responsibilities. John had found Evan's resume in a stack of potential assistants, and hired him sight unseen when his 'likes and dislikes' questionnaire had said 'spreadsheets' for likes and 'hard liquor' for dislikes. They got along well, and John had made it through the entire press tour without falling apart, something that made the studio extremely happy and the insurance company that had taken a risk on him even happier. If the box office did well, he was going to buy Evan a gold-plated spreadsheet or something. In the meantime, he was perfectly happy to let the man direct his life. "What's next?"

"The only thing you have left is the Wormhole Extreme panel, which is where we're heading now."

"Wait, is that what that line is for?" John squinted. "Where are we going, exactly?"

"I told you it was in the main hall."

"Yeah, but I thought you meant, like... after hours." John waved his hand vaguely. "That line goes around the building."

"I think it might go around the block, actually." Evan's attention was back on his tablet. "We've been directed to cut through to the side entrance. Apparently you've become kind of a big deal overnight."

"I'm what?"

"You and Teyla Emmagen were the big draws for this panel already," Evan explained patiently. "You've never been to a Wormhole fan event, ever. Teyla's only been to three of them, all years ago. You're both extremely mysterious-" John snorted. "-and now you have, you know, superhero cache."

"Never say the words superhero cache to me again."

"Can't make any promises. Through here." Evan tugged him through what looked like a fire exit, into a dingy hallway littered with overflowing trash cans.

"This is glamorous."

"You wanted to be a big movie star, sir."

"That may be overstating my ambitions."

"Through this doorway. I think the staff wants to get everyone settled on the stage before they let the fans in."

"I feel like I'm going to my own execution."

Evan stopped, and John bumped into him. "Can I give you some advice, sir?"

John stared at his assistant. "Have I ever stopped you before?"

"They're fans, sir. It means they really love your work, the work you were paid to do. You created something, and it means something to them. They're not coming here to point and giggle, or to accuse you of things. They're coming because they actually like you."

"They're coming because they like the character I played, you mean."

"Which means they have respect for the work you did."

"And I should stop being so flippant about how awful it is to be a big huge movie star?"

"Something like that, sir." Evan started walking again, and John followed him silently until they reached the door to the backstage area of the main hall.

He put a hand on Evan's elbow, drawing his assistant to a halt. "Hey. Thanks. I appreciate the reminder. I signed up to come here willingly, and these people could mean a lot for my career."

Evan nodded. "You're welcome." And then it was time to greet his past. He went through the door Evan held open for him and found his castmates gathered near the curtain that separated the stage area from the back of the house.

"Hello, John." Teyla was as gorgeous as he remembered her, and somehow even calmer than when she'd been a newly-discovered yoga guru turned actress. Her lifestyle empire was still going strong, he'd heard. She drew him in for a gentle press of foreheads together, something he remembered her describing as a wellness-based handshake once.

"Hi, Teyla. Good to see you again." He exchanged handshakes with Stephen Caldwell and Peter Grodin, who both muttered appropriate greetings. "Where's- I mean, anyone else coming?"

"I'm here, I'm here." A clatter made them all turn and look as Rodney McKay paused to right the chair he'd knocked over as he rushed from a doorway John hadn't noticed yet toward the stage. "Sorry. I've got it." 

John watched him bend to set the chair back in place and swallowed. Serious, Oscar-winning luminary of the acting field or not, McKay's ass was just as gorgeous as it had been twenty years ago. "Hi, McKay," he said as the other man came to join them on stage.

Rodney blinked at him. "Sheppard. You actually came."

"I'm actually here," he said, offering an awkward smile.

"How's superhero life?" Rodney asked.

"Those aren't your real abs, right?" Peter Grodin interrupted. "I peeked in on the trailer."

John laughed. "You'll have to get me naked to find out." Caldwell frowned, Grodin grinned, Teyla rolled her eyes, and Rodney snorted. 

"If we could have you all seated so we can get ready to open the doors, please?" The staff member who jogged over to them to deliver this request looked a bit harried, and they all nodded and made their way to the black-draped table. John found himself seated on the the end, next to Rodney, who was in turn next to Teyla. The two of them were murmuring together as John settled himself into his chair and untwisted the cap of the water bottle the convention had provided. 

He stretched his legs under the table and realized that he was brushing up against Rodney's leg. "Sorry," he muttered. Rodney waved a hand at him and continued his conversation with Teyla for a few moments as John watched people file into the room through narrowed eyes. He leaned back in his chair automatically, assuming the casual draped pose that he'd found most comfortable in these extremely uncomfortable seats, and waited for the discussion to begin.

Evan was right. Most of the people here were genuinely excited to see him, and they asked thoughtful questions about what it had been like to work on the show, what his thoughts were about the fact that it had been twenty years since the premiere, what he thought his character might be doing today. He hadn't been entirely sure how to answer that one, as he'd left the show after the second season for his first trip to rehab. His character, the military commander of the expedition to the lost city, hadn't been killed off - small mercies - but he'd been dumped offplanet in fairly embarrassing circumstances. After John had been fired, his character had been replaced by a female lieutenant colonel, who'd promptly begun a love affair with the fictional city's premiere diplomat. The relationship was so believable that the two actors had carried it off set. John had slept with both of them the week before their wedding. Separately, not together. A shame, really; maybe if he'd managed to make it a group thing they'd have realized how much they had in common and they'd still be married. Not that he could say that to the audience. Instead, he told them he thought his character had probably cleaned up his act and was helping out the denizens of whatever planet he'd settled on.

"Spinoff?" someone yelled from the audience to general laughter.

"You write it, I'll act it," he shot back.

Several hands shot up, startling him, and he nodded at the first one.

"Have you read any of the fanfiction about your character?"

John let a slow grin slide onto his face. "I have, actually."

"There's fanfiction about your character?" Rodney asked, looking surprised.

"There's fanfiction about all of our characters, Rodney," John drawled. "Most of it isn't exactly G-rated. You're apparently very good in bed, fictionally speaking." The tips of Rodney's ears turned red, and John found himself unexpectedly mesmerized for a moment before he took pity on the man and signalled for another question. He had read some _very_ interesting fanfiction while he was Googling the show to prepare for this panel. It had been twenty years, after all, he'd needed a couple of reminders. Evan had told him it was still popular, but the reams of archived fiction online were still unexpected. Some of it had been... inspiring. Especially the ones about his character and Rodney's. He was surprised that Rodney didn't seem to know about it, based on his reaction. He shifted slightly, tearing his senses away from the warm presence beside him and focusing on the fan who'd eagerly seized the microphone from the con crewmember passing it around.

"Do you believe the rumors that you were written off the show because your chemistry with Mr. McKay was too intense and it was a distraction from his character's canon relationships?"

He heard Rodney choke slightly next to him as he chuckled. "Those rumors are a testament to Mr. McKay's acting ability, friends. He doesn't have that Oscar in his back pocket for nothing. I assure you, I was a complete pain in the ass to work with." He leaned forward, letting his gaze meet several audience members' as honestly as he could. "Let me be clear. I was written off the show because I was a problem and a liability. I was addicted, unhealthy, and unreliable. The production company's insurance refused to carry me anymore, and frankly, they were right. I think you all know that after I left Wormhole, I, uh, had some issues." The studio preferred that he didn't outright say heroin. Or cocaine. Or even alcohol. They liked him to call it 'personal issues,' since he refused to paper it over by calling it 'exhaustion.' He'd worked too hard to get sober to lie about it.

The room was nearly silent, and he could feel the other actors' gazes on him, some sympathetic and some stern. He didn't dare turn his head far enough to see which one Rodney was. "Bluntly, I lost the job, and it was my own fault. I've been to rehab, more than once, and it's taken me a long time to get back to a point where anybody thinks it's a safe bet to hire me. So while I appreciate your appreciation, no, unfortunately, I wasn't written off the show for being too sexy." He grinned at the audience as they laughed.

After that, the con staff managed to get the questions back on track and directed towards everyone on the panel, not just John, and he relaxed a little. This Wormhole stuff wasn't too bad, after all.

Two hours later, he stood and stretched, letting out an involuntary groan as his back cracked. "These chairs are awful."

"They always are," Rodney said. "Make sure you do some kind of side stretch or your hips will hate you." He demonstrated, twisting his torso to one side.

John very carefully didn't think about Rodney bending or twisting or anything else as he shook hands with Caldwell and Grodin, who were both being hustled out of the room by their handlers. They were both career character actors, and had found success on enough shows that they could tour the convention circuit easily. At a big con like this one, they had several cast panels to attend.

"Don't envy those guys," John said half to himself as he watched them leave. "This is exhausting."

"Drink more water," Teyla advised him. "Hydration will help."

"She's right," Evan said from behind him. "But you're in luck, you don't have anything else today." He came up next to John and gave Teyla a shy nod. "Hello."

"Rodney, Teyla, meet my assistant Evan. He's the light of my life." John introduced them.

"Hello," Teyla said warmly. "From what I know of John, you must be worth your weight in gold." She snuck a sly smile at John, who stuck his tongue out at her. It surprised him how easy it was to fall back into the habits of friendship. Teyla had always been easy to be around, and somehow nothing had changed.

"I do my best," Evan said. "It's nice to meet both of you."

"What's next?" John asked him.

"You should eat," Evan said. "And then you're on your own until tomorrow. A couple of meetings, and then we're heading out." He glanced at Teyla multiple times while he was talking. John hid a smile. She tended to have that effect on people. And Evan was a secret Wormhole fan, after all. John was impressed with his ability to keep cool - some of the celebrities they'd seen this weekend had had even his jaw dropping.

"I think I can manage that," John said. "Want to take the evening off?"

Evan blinked at him. "Do you promise not to set anyone or anything on fire?"

Next to him, Rodney snorted, and Teyla's grin grew. John rolled his eyes. "I promise. Set that app you put on my phone to give me an alarm for whatever time you need me tomorrow and take off, you've worked a lot harder than I have."

"I'll set two alarms. Actually, three." Evan tapped at his tablet several times. "Do you need me to make you dinner reservations?" 

John reached out and put his hand over the tablet screen. "I need you to get dinner for yourself. I'll be fine."

"I- okay. If you say so." Evan tucked his tablet into his bag and nodded to Teyla and Rodney. "It was really great to meet you both." His gaze lingered on Teyla, and John noted that hers was lingering back. How interesting.

"Have a good night, Evan." He waved his assistant away and turned back to Teyla and Rodney. "I-"

"I, too, must go," Teyla said. "It was so good to see you both. Text me when you will be free, we can get together again, I'm sure." And suddenly, she was gone, out the same door Evan had used.

John turned to Rodney and found a speculative expression on the other man's face that he suspected matched his own. "Do you think-"

"I wouldn't speculate," Rodney said with a grin. "Do you want to get dinner? I don't have any other panels tonight, either."

John had been opening his mouth to issue the same invitation, so he nodded. "I'd love to. Are you familiar with the area? I don't spend a lot of time down here."

Rodney nodded. "I'm here for this convention every year, plus a few other meetings and things. I hate to say it, but honestly there's not a lot of great food in walking distance. Do you drive?" 

"I do, generally, but Evan has the keys to the car - it's just a rental from the airport. So I guess I have to throw myself on your mercy," John said. He bit his lip, only realizing after the fact that what he'd said might have a very different meaning. He wished it would. Being near Rodney again reminded him just how much he'd been interested in the other man. The guy was brilliant, a great actor, and he had a body that drove John absolutely wild. Twenty years hadn't changed a thing. "Any suggestions?" He tried to get his mind back on dinner.

Rodney shrugged. "I don't actually drive, I'm afraid. But there's a decent restaurant in the hotel proper - a steakhouse, if you like meat."

"Oh, I do," John murmured. He couldn't help himself. He glanced up and found Rodney watching him, color rising on his cheeks. When John's gaze met his, Rodney looked away quickly.

"Good. Ah, sounds good. We can head over now, if you'd like. Shouldn't be too crowded, it's about an hour before the rest of the main programming lets out."

John nodded, and let Rodney lead the way. He proved to be correct about the crowds, and they were seated swiftly at an empty table in a quiet corner of the restaurant. John thought he might have seen something change hands between Rodney and the host who seated them, but he wasn't entirely sure and he was grateful enough to be semi-private in an alcove that he wasn't going to ask.

"Just water," he told the waiter who asked for their wine orders.

"The same," Rodney said, and handed back the wine list the man tried to pass him. The waiter nodded, delivered their menus, and left. "You don't drink?" Rodney asked.

John shook his head. "I'm pretty boring these days."

Rodney rolled his eyes. "I'm pretty sure anybody whose definition of excitement exclusively includes alcohol is the boring one."

John smiled. It was always a bit of a crap shoot as to who was going to make a fuss about the fact that he didn't drink, but he should have known Rodney wouldn't care. In general, John could handle when other people drank around him, although he no longer attended the wild parties he'd been a fixture at pre-rehab. Alcohol hadn't really been his primary problem, but it had certainly been something he'd used to mask his growing addictions. These days, it was easier to stick to water, especially in public places. "You can drink, if you want to," he said. "It won't offend me."

"I'm not much of a drinker," Rodney said. "A beer at home once in a while. I don't like to have my head clouded."

The waiter returned with their waters and a basket of bread, and John glanced down at the menu long enough to put in an order for a steak, as did Rodney. After the waiter had left again John looked at Rodney and remembered the surprise he'd felt when Evan had told him that McKay was a convention regular. It was obviously true - Rodney knew his way around this place like the back of his hand, and he'd said he came every year.

"Why do you come to these things? You don't need the money," John said. "You got your damned Oscar, and you work consistently. Nominated again last year, weren't you? You're a smart guy, there's no way you're hemorrhaging money to the point that you need to cash a con paycheck."

Rodney sniffed. "Hardly. I have a very good financial advisor. I'll give you his name, if you'd like, now that you're-" he stopped, and color crept into his cheeks.

"Now that I'm not blowing everything I earn on drugs and hookers?" John said dryly. "Thanks."

"I didn't mean it like that," Rodney mumbled.

"You did," John said. "But that's okay. It's true, after all." He'd been very close to broke for a long time. Only the fact that his father had held his trust fund for him with an iron grip and doled out its dividends as a sort of allowance had kept him afloat. The old man had paid for rehab, too. It had been a struggle to reconcile with him after the long break in their relationship, but his father had quietly kept him alive no matter how he felt about John's choices, and he deserved all the thanks John could manage. These days, gratitude was a little easier. Maybe turning forty did it. Or maybe turning forty _sober_ was the trick.

"You're doing all right now," Rodney said. "Big superhero money coming in, I hear."

John laughed. "Theoretically, anyway. Right now I'm like some kind of Schroedinger's actor. I'm either a very hot ticket or not, but nobody actually knows for sure until the movie releases. The studio is doing all they can to get us into the market, but sometimes it just comes down to whether people go to see the damn film or not. As I'm sure you know." Rodney was staring at him. "What?"

"Did you seriously just make a reference to Schroedinger's cat?"

"Um... yes?"

"You mean you actually have a brain somewhere underneath all that hair?"

John grinned at him. "Smart people do it for you, Rodney?"

This time, the blush went from his cheeks to his chin. "I didn't-"

John leaned in. "For the record, smart people do it for me, too." He watched with satisfaction as Rodney's eyes dilated, and the other man swallowed thickly. His guess was right, then. "I hear you have a doctorate."

Rodney blinked. "I do. Googled me, did you?"

John rolled his eyes. "To be fair, I Googled everyone. It's been a while. I honestly had no idea that the show was still so popular. I've been really out of the loop."

The other man smiled. "It never really went away, you know? Eight years on the air, and a lifetime on the Internet."

"And now we're back to my question, _Doctor_ McKay." John emphasized the title with a drawl.

"Oh, I don't make people call me doctor," Rodney said. "I got the degree because I wanted to learn, not because I wanted to beat people over the head with it." He paused, looking thoughtful. "Unless I need to, of course. Or it's fun."

"It's probably always fun."

"I can't lie, it really is." Rodney grinned, and John caught his breath. The little bend in the other man's lips was emphasized when he smiled, and it led to an incredibly distracting dimple. How was anyone supposed to focus around that sort of thing? John hadn't been able to twenty years ago, and he wasn't able to now. He grasped for the reins of the conversation again.

"Do you use it? The degree, I mean. What's it in?"

"So you were just skimming Google, then." Rodney's tone was disapproving.

"Cut me some slack, McKay, I only found out about this stuff a week ago. And the fanfiction was very distracting." Rodney's ears turned red again, and John enjoyed it immensely.

"My PhD is in astrophysics, if you must know."

John stared at him. "Why?"

Rodney rolled his eyes. "Because I like it."

"What does an Oscar-winning actor do with an astrophysics degree?"

"Consult, mostly," Rodney said, picking up a breadstick and beginning to shred it. "I only film one project a year, but I have my hands in pretty much every science fiction project that comes out of Hollywood these days. They want to make sure their space lingo sounds realistic, and for some reason they have no idea that an academic scientist would have all of the same expertise I do and charge about half the price." He shrugged. "It's a living."

"So you went to all the effort of getting a PhD to overcharge Hollywood producers to tell them their fake science sounds too fake?" John raised his eyebrows. "That seems expensively cynical."

The breadstick was completely shredded now, and Rodney's big fingers traced curving patterns into the blanket of crumbs on his plate. "That's not why I got it, that's just what I do with it. Mostly."

"What do you mean?"

Now the crumbs began moving into little piles, in some esoteric pattern known only to the hand that was distributing them. "I actually started working through my second masters program while I was still on Wormhole."

John frowned, trying to decipher the relevance of the timeline. "Your second?"

"My first is in arts administration, emphasis on theatre management. I planned to be a stage manager on Broadway, actually."

"And then wound up on stage?"

"Entirely by accident, I assure you. They needed someone who could play the piano for a minor role while I was interning."

"Rodney, you have a Tony award."

"Well, they didn't give it to me for that role."

John couldn't help the snort of laughter that escaped him. "So you were a theatre kid."

"Most actors were theatre kids, Sheppard. We can't all be rich jocks."

"Excuse me, I was a model."

Rodney rolled his eyes. "Don't remind me. I've seen that underwear ad, you know."

"I've learned to appreciate the underwear ad, actually. I was nineteen."

"Yes, yes you were." They both laughed at that, and Rodney continued. "Anyway, I wound up getting cast as a scientist on Wormhole, and it sounds really nerdy to say it out loud but I got really interested in the science, even though it was mostly fake. I spent eight years reciting a lot of pseudoscientific language and eventually I started looking up a few things to make sure I wasn't sounding like an idiot. It all just sort of ballooned from there."

"Talk about method acting. It's no wonder you have an Oscar."

Rodney shook his head. "It wasn't that, honestly. It's just really interesting stuff. And the things we're talking about now in theoretical physics - frankly, we're a lot closer to Wormhole Extreme than a lot of people think we are, you know? Quantum physics is moving pretty fast."

"So you're not just a movie consultant, then."

"I mean, I keep my toes in the water."

John narrowed his eyes. "If I were to pull up LexisNexis on my phone, how many current papers would have your name on them?"

"Why would you have LexisNexis on your phone?" Rodney narrowed his eyes back. "Do you have a subscription? Why?"

"Hey, I'm allowed to have interests."

"In academic esoterica? I'm honestly not sure you are. Does People Magazine know?"

"People Magazine can bite me."

"Is that the old John Sheppard talking or the new one?"

"In this sentiment, we are united," John said. He placed his hand over his heart and attempted to look solemn as Rodney dissolved into laughter. "Hey, you never answered my original question, you know."

"What, about the degree?"

"No, about why you come to these cons every year. My assistant told me you're such a regular that you've only missed one year. It surprised me."

"How so?" Rodney's shoulders came up, and John winced. He hadn't meant to make the man defensive.

"I guess I didn't expect an Oscar-winning doctor of astrophysics who bilks producers out of vast quantities of money and uses it to fund quantum research to want to spend a lot of time sitting in tiny rooms signing pictures for sweaty fans."

Rodney raised an eyebrow. "Not a fan of the fans?"

John winced. "It's not that." After the day he'd had, he was becoming increasingly sure that Wormhole fans were in fact the reason he had any kind of career at all, rehab or no rehab. There was frankly no other explanation for why the Tungsten Man producers had been willing to take a chance on him, even though he'd been sober for years now. Once he'd gotten his shit together, he'd had enough small roles and commercial gigs - mostly overseas - to get by, but he hadn't thought he'd ever get back to the point where he'd be considered for major film roles. Let alone the center of something that was expected to kickstart a franchise. He'd offered to pay the insurance fees himself when he'd gotten word that he was on the shortlist for the role. "I guess I just thought you'd... be busy," he finished awkwardly.

"I am busy," Rodney said. "I come anyway."

"Will you tell me why?" John watched as Rodney opened his mouth, and something made him blurt, "The real reason, not what you tell people."

Rodney froze, and his eyes snapped to John's. "I-"

"You don't have to," John said. "I'm sorry." He reached out and touched the back of Rodney's hand, now resting still next to the elaborate crumb-henge he'd built on his plate.

"No, I-" They were interrupted by the delivery of their dinners, and John watched Rodney covertly through the rearranging of silverware and glasses and placement of the steaks they'd ordered. He looked a little unsettled, but not truly upset. John waved the server off after their waters were refilled.

"People don't usually have the insight to ask me about it," Rodney said finally, as he neatly sliced a perfectly-square inch of steak. "The fans assume I do it for them, and the actors assume I do it for the money."

"All valid reasons," John pointed out as Rodney chewed and moaned his way through his first bite of excellent filet. "Are you eating that steak or making out with it?" 

"Can't it be both? It's really good." Rodney pointed the tip of his knife at John's plate. "Eat yours."

"Yes, sir," John said, and they both stilled for a moment. How interesting. Turned out you could still find out things about yourself after forty. He _really_ hoped they were going to get to explore this little wrinkle further. He sliced into his own steak and popped a bite into his mouth. Rodney was right, it was really good. But watching Rodney eat it was infinitely better.

Halfway through his baked potato, Rodney finally paused. "I come to these because it's the closest I can come to recapturing the Wormhole environment, if you must know," he said.

John had to chew through his own mouthful of green beans before he could answer. "The environment?"

Rodney sighed. "Wormhole was the best project I ever worked on. It always felt... like a family. Like I came to work and was embraced by a group of people who all loved the same things I loved and wanted the best for me." His mouth twisted ironically. "I'm self-aware enough to know that that wasn't actually true, but my subconscious doesn't really care. When I think about being on set at Wormhole, I get the warm fuzzies, and my id wants to go get more of them. So I come to the cons for my annual dose. It's good for my brain." He shrugged.

John stared at him. "That... is not at all what I expected."

"Self care is important, John. It's not all spas and wellness retreats. Sometimes it's just recognizing what your weird lizard brain likes and making an effort to give it to it, even if it's strange or potentially inconvenient."

John thought about his own time on Wormhole. He'd spiralled quickly into a prickly, spiking, over-stimulated mess, but he fought through the chaotic impressions left by his own bad choices to try to see his time on set with objective eyes. Rodney was right; the cast had clicked quickly, and they'd grown very close very fast. Working on set had been easy, the scripts entertaining and the characters so easy to play it was like the casting director had simply cast them as themselves. He winced as he realized the only fly in the ointment had probably been him. "Easier after I left, huh?"

Rodney sighed. "It was hard right after you left, but I won't lie and say it wasn't easier not to deal with you, especially at the end. We tried to help you."

"I know you did." The Wormhole cast had held his very first intervention. It hadn't gone well. 

"It felt like we'd had a hole ripped in the world," Rodney said quietly. "When you left."

"I'm sorry," John said. "I say it a lot, but I mean it."

"I know."

John didn't know what to do, so he picked up his knife and fork and ate another few bites of steak while Rodney watched him. "What?" he asked after he swallowed.

"Why did you come to the panel?" 

"I was-"

Rodney held up a hand. "No, no, not the con, I know you're here to promote Tungsten Man. The panel."

John's mouth went dry. "Um." He'd come to the panel because Rodney was going to be there. Because he'd never been able to resist the urge to be in the same room with the man, to watch his clever mouth and big hands and broad shoulders. He'd come for Rodney. But he wasn't nearly confident enough to say so. "A lot of reasons, I guess." He managed a grin. "My assistant, it turns out, is a Wormie."

"The foaming at the mouth kind or the fun kind?"

"There are kinds?" John stared at the other man.

"Oh, yes. Some of them are delightful. They feel the same sense of camaraderie and wonder that we do, they get what it's like to be part of something that built a beautiful world. And some of them are..." Rodney paused. "I guess maybe the nice way to say it would be overly invested in that world."

"Overly invested?"

"There are people out there who really like to explain things, John. Like, a lot. Even if, for instance, you already know those things. Or were part of creating them."

"You're talking about the 'not a question but a comment' crowd, aren't you," John said, amused.

"They're just the tip of the iceberg, my friend. And we have it easy. Ask Teyla what it's like for her sometime." Rodney shook his head. "Let's not talk about it. Do you want dessert? They have a great lava cake here."

"Are you staying here?" John blurted. "In the main hotel?" Wow. Where had all of his game gone? He used to have _some_ sense of finesse. Or even a bare minimum of tact. Apparently one good steak dinner and one Oscar-winning astrophysicist were enough to completely turn his head.

Rodney's eyes lifted to meet his, and the other man nodded slowly. "I am," he said. His tongue slipped out to wet his lips, though John didn't think he was doing it consciously. The effect was the same either way. John swallowed.

"I, uh, don't really want dessert from the restaurant," he managed.

The other man's eyes widened, and he nodded once, quickly. "I. Um. Have a coffee maker in the room. If you'd like to. Come up."

John felt his entire body go hot. "That'd be nice," he said. 

They managed to leave the hotel restaurant casually enough, both pausing briefly to sign a couple of autographs for the waitstaff who let them out the side entrance that led directly to the staff elevators. It was a trick that Rodney was clearly familiar with, because he led the way with unerring speed. John hit the button for the elevator, which dinged so promptly that it must have already been at this level. He gestured Rodney in, and watched as the other man pressed the button for the sixteenth floor. "I'm on the same level," he said.

Rodney nodded. "They put most of the VIPs in the same area. Easier for both private and convention security. I think this year they blocked off the entire sixteenth and seventeenth floors for guests."

They waited in silence for the elevator to ascend, John's palms itching to cross the three feet that separated them and grab Rodney's shirt to pull them together. He didn't. Everyone knew what elevator cameras could do to your reputation, and he had no idea if Rodney was out, or, for that matter, willing to be seen with him even if he was. These were probably questions he should ask before he got anywhere near the other man's hotel room, but he was so focused on keeping his own clothes on for the duration of the elevator ride that he couldn't manage to say a word for fear of spontaneous and explosive nudity.

He followed Rodney off the elevator and down the hallway, sparing a moment to be grateful that it was unexpectedly empty. Having the elevator to themselves during a convention had been a minor miracle; having the hallway empty too was basically a sign from the heavens. John hadn't ever had divine-approved sex before. He was looking forward to it. Rodney slid a keycard out of his pocket as they approached one of the doors, and clicked it quickly in and out of the lock. He opened it and gestured John inside. John obediently entered, then took the few steps down the tiny hotel-sized hallway that led into the room proper and glanced around. Rodney's room was nicer than his. He had a basic room with a king-sized bed, and he'd gotten the con to comp him the adjoining room for Evan to stay in and considered it a major coup. Rodney's room, on the other hand, was plush. The bed took up the entire back half of the room - it appeared to be something bigger than a king size, which John hadn't even known was possible. It was tucked into a niche formed by an arched window and surrounded by gold draperies. The rest of the room contained a large, open living area, with a couch, table, and even a small kitchenette - he hadn't even known this hotel had suites, let alone ones with stovetops. He turned to Rodney, about to ask how he'd known, but he didn't get the chance before he felt himself flying backwards to land against the wall, a firm body pressed full-length against him. Large hands slid into his hair, and lips met his in a warm, slow onslaught that had him gasping. He moaned, and felt Rodney hitch a leg closer to fit between his thighs as his mouth was thoroughly explored by an expert tongue.

"Jesus," he gasped as Rodney's lips left his to trail along his chin, then make their way leisurely down his neck. He tilted his head back and let himself go limp against the wall, held up by the solid wall of Rodney that was surrounding him. "Rodney, I- oh, fuck." Rodney's hand had made its way under his shirt, and his fingers were easing lower, beneath the waistband of John's jeans. "Can I- can we-"

"Naked?" Rodney said, slightly muffled against John's throat. "Yes, definitely." Those big hands stripped John more efficiently than he would have thought possible. His t-shirt and jeans were gone before he'd even realized they were moving, along with his shoes and socks, and Rodney's hand closed around his boxer-covered ass, making his hips jolt forward and both of them catch their breath as their cocks came into contact, covered as they were.

"So we're doing this?" John breathed.

"Little late to be asking that, isn't it?" Rodney licked a stripe across his chest and fastened his teeth around one nipple and John came off the wall entirely.

"Oh, god. Bed? I know I saw one." He scrabbled at Rodney's waist, managing to lift the other man's shirt up until he reluctantly released John's nipple and shrugged out of it.

"Bed's good. Wall's good, too," Rodney said. His hands slid down John's arms and caught his wrists as his body pressed John back into the wall again and his teeth nipped lightly at John's neck.

John shuddered. "In principle, I agree with you, and I have to tell you it's incredibly hot, what you're doing right now, but also I turned forty last year and it turns out beds are really great."

Rodney let go of John's wrists and laughed. It transformed his entire face, and John felt his breath go out of him like a blow to the stomach. He'd thought Rodney's crooked smile was the hottest thing he'd ever seen; somehow, he'd never seen the man really laugh. Not in private, away from any possible inquiring eyes. He wanted to see it again. He wanted it to happen while he was laid out on Rodney's big bed, with Rodney inside him, filling him until he thought he would burst and laughing with happiness above him. He slid a hand down and ground it against the base of his cock to stop himself from coming right then and there. "Do you have-"

"Nightstand," Rodney said. His expression was suddenly blank. "It, uh, comes with the room. Not the reason I got it, I swear."

"Who am I to turn down a hotel perk?" John said. He bounded across the room and took a flying leap onto the big bed, then rolled onto his back, spread his legs, and smiled his sultriest smile at Rodney. "Come and get me." 

Rodney froze for a moment, staring at him like he was something entirely unexpected, and then he was striding across the room, shedding the remainder of his clothing as he went and reaching for John's waist to yank his boxers off. John twisted and lifted to help him, and suddenly he was pinned to the bed, strong hands on his hips and warm lips against his. He skimmed Rodney's calf with his heel and felt the man shudder against him, hips thrusting slightly. He lifted his own hips to meet Rodney's, but found himself unable to - the hands on his hipbones tightened and he groaned, feeling most of the blood in his body rushing straight to his cock. "God, Rodney. This is- you're-"

"Have you thought about it?" Rodney said quietly against his ear. Teeth slid along his earlobe. "Did you think about it back then?" The same teeth nipped down his neck and dug lightly into the seam of his collar, and John moaned, wordless. Rodney's fingers slid up along his sides, pausing to curve gently around his nipples before sweeping back down to explore his pelvic bone, trailing gently across every inch of skin as John jerked and shuddered. "I did."

And then warmth surrounded John's cock, and he was shouting as he came into Rodney's mouth, back arched and muscles tight as his balls tightened and sent a flood into the suction of Rodney's welcoming lips. Rodney swirled his tongue around the tip of John's cock, letting the aftershocks make John moan again as his thighs trembled. When Rodney lifted his head, looking smug, John opened eyes he hadn't realized he'd closed and met the blue gaze staring at him. He waved a limp hand. "You... I..."

Rodney grinned. "No complaints?"

"I don't even know what a complaint is," John said. He leaned his head back against the pillows and trailed a hand along Rodney's arm. "You might have a few, though."

"I'm not done," Rodney said.

"I noticed." Rodney's cock was thick and hard, jutting out from his body as it lay against John's leg. He reached a hand down to it, but Rodney swatted him away.

"If you touch me, I'll blow," he said ruefully. "You're not the only one getting old. And I really want to fuck you."

"I really want you to fuck me, too," John said.

Rodney slid across him, reaching for the nightstand, and John drew his fingers down the other man's bare back, digging in to make his nails catch. Rodney shivered as he opened the drawer and pulled out a small bottle and a foil packet. He left the drawer open, moving back across John's body and pausing when he was fully suspended above him. John grinned up at him and let his tongue wet his lips.

"God, you're a disaster waiting to happen," Rodney whispered, and then he was kissing John, hot and heavy and wet and his weight was pressing John back down into the mattress as their hips ground together before Rodney pulled his body back and slid a slick finger back across John's hole while he devoured John's mouth with his expert tongue. When he'd managed to open the lube, John had no idea, and he was far beyond paying attention to things like the passage of time or physical reality as Rodney eased a finger slowly inside, pausing just inside the firm ring of muscle while John panted and gasped.

"Okay?" Rodney murmured.

"Yeah." John took a deep breath. "I've had a lot of practice but it's been a while."

"Mm." Rodney's finger moved then, sliding forward and crooking upwards, and John was lost to all comprehensible language. When the second finger joined the first, he realized he was getting hard again, and he ground himself against Rodney's hand.

"More. God, Rodney, please-"

"I've got you." Three fingers slid smoothly across his prostate, and John bucked.

"I- oh- Rodney, fuck me. Please."

More pressure against his prostate, and John felt his cock go harder than it had been before he'd come. Then emptiness as Rodney pulled out, and only the sound of the condom wrapper kept him from protesting. And then- oh, god, then Rodney was against him, then inside him, pressing forward slow and smooth, and John felt his eyes roll back into his head as Rodney bottomed out against his balls.

Big hands adjusted his thighs, shifting both of their bodies into some angle known only to Rodney, and then he was thrusting into John, hitting his sweet spot every single time, and John was dragging in great gasping breaths as he heard a whispered litany of "So good, John, so hot, I've waited... knew it would be..."

He arched his back, reaching for the pleasure singing under his skin, and then Rodney's hand was around his cock, stroking smoothly to match his thrusts. "Faster. Faster, Rodney. Harder. Please."

Rodney slammed into him, stripping his cock with hard strokes that had John tensing in moments. "I'm going to-"

"So am I," Rodney said through gritted teeth. "You first." He twisted, and John followed the pleasure into white heat, registering dimly Rodney's shuddering gasps as he joined him.

Afterwards, when Rodney had collapsed onto him, John ran his fingers lazily through Rodney's silky hair as he felt the softening cock slide slowly out of him. "Waited for it, huh?" he murmured.

Rodney grunted, then rolled off of John, grabbing tissues from the box on the nightstand in the same movement. He slipped off the condom and tucked it into one of them, then dropped the rest of the handful onto John's chest. John grabbed them and did his best to wipe himself down enough that he wouldn't be sticking to anything or anybody, although he was far too relaxed to be thorough about it. He tossed the tissues in the same direction Rodney had tossed the condom, hoping they made it into the wastebasket next to the nightstand, then rolled to drape his arm across Rodney's broad chest.

Rodney's arm curved around him, and John lifted his head slightly so it could come under to support his neck. He tucked his body alongside Rodney's and made lazy circles around one nipple with his finger. "Worth the wait?"

The shoulder underneath his head tensed, and John lifted his head to look at Rodney, surprised to see the post-coital smugness turning swiftly to something he thought looked a lot more like a frown than it should. "What?"

Rodney's mobile lips firmed, then opened. "Yes, it was worth the wait."

John frowned. "That's not what you wanted to say." He flattened his hand on Rodney's chest, pressed down. "What's the deal?"

Rodney sighed. "I just... I guess I didn't expect you to cuddle."

John felt as though he'd been punched. He sat up, curling his body in on itself to protect his aching gut. "Sorry. I can go."

"No! That's not what I meant. I- I mean, if you want to go, of course, you should. But I didn't mean I wanted to." Rodney screwed up his eyes like he was in pain. "I'm really bad at this."

John drew his legs up underneath him until he could wrap his arms around his knees, ankles crossing as he stared at Rodney. "I'm not particularly good at it either, for what it's worth." He drew in a deep breath. "Are you upset that I, uh, cuddled?" God, he was talking about feelings. The sex really had been transformative.

"I liked it," Rodney said quietly. "I just didn't expect it, from what I know of you. I'd sort of braced myself for you to leap out of the bed and disappear."

John snorted. "Like a genie?"

"You're no Barbara Eden," Rodney said with a wry grin.

"I'd look good in those see-through pants, though." John watched Rodney's eyes dilate and grinned. "Maybe we can look into that for next time."

That made Rodney's gaze snap straight to his, like he was some kind of rare earth magnet. "You want there to be a next time?"

John tightened his arms around his legs. _Talk about it, don't react to it, John_. "You don't?"

"Of course I do, you idiot. I've waited twenty years for this." Rodney flung out a hand, exasperatedly waving between them like he was circling a landmark on a map.

"I- what?" John had resisted the urge to try to seduce Rodney twenty years ago because he'd known, deep down, that he was a mess and Rodney deserved better. He still thought Rodney deserved better, but he hadn't been able to resist anymore. He'd taken what he could get.

"I wanted you then. Of course I did. Have you seen yourself?" Rodney snorted. "But I never got your attention. You slept with half the crew and a significant part of the cast, but never made your way to me, so I figured I wasn't your type. But that didn't stop me from thinking about it. And about ten years ago, I realized that I should have just come to you." He paused thoughtfully. "I think it was when you went to rehab the second time. There was a headline saying you'd overdosed or something, and might be in a coma-"

"I was never in a coma," John said.

"I know. But for like three hours I thought you were, and I thought that I might never see you again, and I realized I'd sort of been assuming that I would and counting on it, and it made a bunch of stuff fall into place and I realized that if I did see you, I should just... try. And whatever you might give me would have to be enough, because it would be better than the nothing that I'd managed to get before."

"I- Jesus, Rodney."

The other man shrugged, and leaned back against the pillows, putting his hands behind his head casually in a smooth movement that John suspected was far more careful than he allowed to show. "So I got you finally, and it was absolutely worth it." He smiled at John. "Whatever you want, I'm up for. I just don't want you to feel like you have to-"

John cut him off. "Rodney. I wanted you. Then. Now. Pretty much always." Rodney blinked at him, and John continued. "I'm kind of a fuck-up, you know that, right?"

"I'm aware," Rodney said wryly. "Most of the world is aware, I suspect. Tabloids love you. It's probably the hair."

John ran a hand through his hair. "It's just like this, you know. I can't do anything about it." He dropped his hand, let it come to rest on Rodney's thigh. "If you're willing to.... to keep this going, be with me? I'll be here, Rodney. I've wanted this forever. I just thought I couldn't have it."

Rodney's eyes were wide. "So back then-"

John snorted. "Remember how I used to miss my line when you walked on set?"

"I thought it was Teyla!"

"It was you. Every time. You're very distracting. I could barely focus on those damn questions today for wanting to get my hands on you." John unfolded his legs, daring to lie back down next to Rodney, and the other man's arm came around him so fast it was as though he'd been buckled into some kind of safety harness.

"So you're saying you'd like to cuddle," Rodney's tone was warm.

"Among other things."

**Two years later:**

"I can't believe you're going to win another damn Oscar for MY movie," John groused as he pulled the tux out of the closet.

"Excuse me, just because you're Tungsten Man doesn't make it your movie, we all worked hard on it," Rodney said. "And that soundtrack deserves an Oscar, I worked hard on it. Superhero movies don't usually get play at the big awards ceremonies, you know. Especially not sequels."

John snorted. "That's because the Academy is full of snobs."

"Snobs who are going to have to watch a whole lot of explosions on the screen while the orchestra plays the song," Rodney chuckled. "Where are my-"

A knock on the door interrupted him. "I have your cufflinks," Evan's voice came through the door. "You left them in the guest bathroom."

"Why would I leave them in the guest bathroom?" Rodney jerked the door open and held out his hand, as a smirking Evan dropped the cufflinks into it.

"Nobody knows why you do anything, Rodney," John said mildly as he buttoned his shirt. "Mine are in the case where they belong."

"Actually, yours were in the poolhouse," Evan said, and held out his other hand. "I didn't speculate as to why."

John scowled at him. "You're a terrible liar. You definitely speculated." He crossed over to Evan and held out his hand for his own cufflinks. "Why aren't you dressed?"

Evan rolled his eyes. "Because it takes me five minutes? And nobody's going to be looking at me anyway? Have you seen my date?" 

A low chuckle came from behind him, and Teyla Emmagen poked her head around John's assistant's shoulder. "I think they'll be looking at you, Evan. I certainly will. Not that anyone will pay attention to either of us with these two around. Did you see yesterday's People Magazine? John's 'the biggest movie star in the world' now." She made air quotes with her fingers before dropping a kiss on Evan's shoulder and heading down the hallway. 

"Don't, you'll smear your gloss," he yelped after her. 

"You're her date, not her assistant," John pointed out. "Shouldn't you want her gloss smeared?" He smirked.

"Not until after the show," Evan said without missing a beat.

"I don't want to hear about it," Rodney said, holding his hands up in the air. "When I agreed to carpool with you two I definitely didn't agree to hear about your sex life."

"Sure you did," Evan said. "It's on page three of the contract."

"I hate you."

"You love him," John said. "He keeps my life organized, which means he keeps your life simple."

"This isn't simple!" Rodney's waving hands encompassed the matching tuxedos, the missing cufflinks, the crew of hair and makeup gurus occupying the guest room, and probably the limousine waiting in the driveway of the house in the Hollywood hills he and John had bought six months ago.

"Greatness never is, Rodney." John caught his wrists and drew him in for a kiss. "Let's go get you another Oscar."

**Author's Note:**

> A huge thank you to the vibrant SG/SGA fandom, who have been giving me reading material I desperately needed for ages. It seems to finally be my turn.


End file.
